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The riverbank trail

by SondJam 5 months ago in Classical
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The wind in the wilderness is a sound amplifier, the people on the north bank of the river said all the words scraped into the ears of the people on the south side of the river, like face to face. So there is no secret in the wind, it is not afraid to let people listen to it, listen to it is no matter, anyway, people on both sides of the river can not cross the river, and what can be done, rather than let go of the voice to talk about leisure, but also free. A water is separated by various crops, and it's good to listen to the wind from afar and get used to it.

At that time, I rode my bicycle on the path of the river bank, the rain poofed up, and my clothes and hair soon became half wet. I knew that there was a river irrigation station in front of me, so I didn't care about the rain that was slanting towards my face and eyes, but thought about pedaling faster to escape the rush of the rain. Soon, I stopped in front of the expected small house, hiding under the eaves, and waited until the rain stopped before leaving.

At that time, it was such a pleasure to slip around the riverbank. There were woods full of red tomatoes in the river circle, the slope of the river bank covered with winding and staggered wattle, the excitement, fearlessness and joy of riding a bicycle down the slope, and the mystery left in the hearts of children by the river that could not be followed to the end.

At that time, there was a rectangular boundary marker erected at the end of my trip to the riverbank, a piece of the boundary between two cities. When I saw it, I knew it was time for me to walk down the riverbank, because I had never walked on that side of the riverbank boundary marker. It seemed far away, and because it was far away, it was scary. Many times I wanted to go over there and take a look, but then there was an invisible force that told me that my fork had arrived and I should turn in another direction. Thus, for many years, I made the same choice every time at the fork of the boundary marker, heading towards the unchanging path of life.

Today I am standing at the fork in the road, looking away from the other road I never chose, the river bank path that has been stretching continuously, the river flowing quietly on the left, the dark houses scattered in the wheat fields on the right, and the dense roadside poplar forest turning a corner in a hurry not far away, blocking my view. The forest is following the river standing, how the river flows, how the forest stands, they guard the old river that rushed.

At this time, an old man walking slowly with his hands behind his back on the riverbank path, sometimes lowering his head to look at the wheat seedlings in the river circle, sometimes looking around in the direction of the path to come and go, and sometimes gazing at the river and the other side of the distant has blurred into a black pile of people. At this point, I was most afraid that she would turn her gaze to me, and I knew I would be too deep into that old gaze that I hadn't seen in a long time to escape, so I tried to get out of the way as quickly as possible before it came. I turned my head to the side and looked at random things, dark yellow dead grass, dry puddles, dead trees half obliterated by the cold river breeze, and a lone moving stump on the opposite bank. The wheat seedlings are green, not yet grown, and do not need to be taken care of; which side of the path is the direction to come, which side is the direction to go, and who can guess it; especially the people on the north side of the river, sometimes hidden, really live in our sight, and never come to our real life, like the stars in the night sky, he exists to embellish our lives. Maybe that old man lived in this village all his life, all the time, never had the fantasy of floating across the river to take a look, just as we never want to pick a star. I, a stranger, appeared on a riverbank path that did not belong to this village, in such a cold and cloudy weather, I hope I did not frighten the wheat fields and trees here, the river and the stump people on the opposite bank that I had never met, I hope I did not disturb the old house and the old man here, they really have everything here, no one else belongs here, including the slightest hint of silence.

I moved my feet, turned right, and went down the riverbank, my most skillful choice, leaving the boundary marker still standing stiffly in the wind.

Classical

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SondJam

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